Ennis's Bad Day
by alicekinsno1
Summary: One of Ennis's bad days with Szilard- well, worse days than usual, anyway. She has to be his personal maid and he's mean to her every chance he gets. Rated T as a precaution.


Ennis's Bad Day

_A/N: this will hopefully be one of two stories that I create to discuss some of the nastiest (and most stereotypical) villains in all of Baccano! This one's basically what I envision a bad day for Ennis would have been before Firo and his friends came on the scene. It's meant to be over-the-top, because I felt that was the best way to maintain the evil, evil, evil drumbeat Szilard sets up for himself._

"ENNIS!" The cry rang through the little shop where Ennis and her master Szilard had taken up residence. "Wake up and cook my breakfast!"

Ennis picked herself up out of her nest of dust and rags, ripping off her pajamas and tugging on her clothes, inwardly scolding herself on being so remiss as to allow herself to sleep in. She then set a few coals in the oven to get warm and went to the cellar to pick up a loaf of bread, as well as dispatching a young chicken from a small cage; Szilard's meals were never complete unless they included at least one fluffy little animal. Ennis wasn't sure why, but she never dared question him. He might make good on his threats to devour her if she did.

Once the bread was reconstituted and the chicken was in the oven, Ennis went to prepare her own meal of gruel. Gruel was the only thing Szilard allowed her to cook and eat for herself. He had made it very clear that he didn't want to see her eating anything else unless he gave permission, and Ennis knew better than to defy him.

Before Ennis could eat, she had to serve Szilard. She was running a little behind schedule, and as she waited for the chicken to brown she couldn't help but become increasingly anxious. She could hear Szilard pacing in the adjacent room, and she begged and prayed for the chicken to cook faster, so she could just get him his food and eat breakfast in peace.

But, after what seemed like an eternity, the food was ready, and Ennis placed it on the only good plate the two of them owned, and handed it to Szilard. She expected no thanks and was offered none.

Szilard was the only one allowed to sit at the small table in the other room. Ennis had to eat around him, sitting on the floor or in a separate room entirely. But she kept her master company anyway, just out of a sense of duty. She was a good Homunculus.

Ennis was halfway through her meal when Szilard completed his. "Ennis, wash my dishes," he said curtly, as he got up from the table and wandered toward the door. "And wash my laundry, as well, when you have finished."

"Yes, sir," said Ennis, trying to collect the dishes with her free hand and take them over to an area to store until she could go searching for the pump.

Now Szilard was putting on his overcoat. "I am going out to see if there are any other immortals around that I can devour to gain their knowledge," he said, "When I come home I expect you to have prepared me a goulash. Made of puppies."

Ennis was not surprised. He asked for this exact same dish all the time. "Yes, sir," she sighed meekly.

"And sweep the floor of my laboratory. I'll need to use it later," he said as he turned on his heel and trudged out the door.

She finished her breakfast in a hurry and took the dishes outside and down the crowded street to a water pump, which she used to clean them, to the best of her ability. She then returned to their little store, where she proceeded to boil Szilard's old clothes. Not that she was aware when he was next going to change his clothes. But when he bossed her around, she listened. A single act of defiance from her could be suicide.

After the clothes were in the pot, Ennis went out to catch a few puppies for Szilard's meal, stopping every so often to return and check on his clothes, and then to hang them up. But she couldn't find any puppies. "How about a kitten?" she thought, congratulating herself on her reasoning skills. But she couldn't find any kittens either. Ennis was getting desperate. If Szilard found the meat she used wanting, well…. She immediately began rattling off a list of cute, fluffy animals. "A squirrel? A rabbit? A mouse?" It didn't do to stall; goulash could require several hours of cooking time. Eventually, Ennis ended up using some rats (which were cute enough, Ennis reasoned). She also pickpocketed a passerby to buy veal and lamb (Szilard would kill her if she spent any of his money, so it had to come from elsewhere). She worked feverishly to get the stew on the stove, sautéing onions in fat, cubing meat, making dumplings and egg noodles, when suddenly—she realized that she had run out of Hungarian paprika! Or rather, that there was no Hungarian paprika since Szilard had thrown the remaining supply out the window to punish her for serving yet another goulash that didn't taste like his mother's. But it was her fault either way. As far as Szilard was concerned, everything was her fault. When it wasn't the fault of some other immortal.

So, it was out once again, to the streets to pickpocket money and then to a small store where she could buy some paprika. Only then could she truly get the goulash on the stove. At this point, she was worried the stew might not cook fast enough.

Sure enough, by the time Szilard got home, the meat still wasn't completely tender. "Ennis," he barked, "Did you do my laundry?"

"Yes, sir."

"And did you wash my dishes?"

"Yes, sir?"

"It smells like something's cooking."

"That would be… y-your goulash, sir."

"I see," was his reply. "Ennis, serve me my goulash immediately."

"S-sir?" Ennis said weakly, "It's… it's not quite ready yet."

"What do you mean, it's not quite ready yet?" Szilard yelled at her. "I leave you for an entire afternoon and you neglect to finish my supper before I return?"

"I… it should be ready within the hour, sir," said Ennis.

"Very well," Szilard grumbled, "Clean my laboratory while I wait.

"Understood, sir," said Ennis. She went upstairs to the laboratory, where she swept the floor, tidied up the glasswear, and set out a few candles so her master could work late.

At last the goulash was finished. Ennis ladled the stew into a bowl along with the egg noodles, and placed it before Szilard in the other room. Szilard took a few bites, before saying: "Ennis, this goulash tastes strangely like my mother's."

Ennis accepted this as a compliment; Szilard often compared her goulash unfavorably to his mother's. Ennis made a note to keep including veal and lamb in the stew, since her master appeared to like it.

"Ennis, fetch yourself a bowl and sit down."

"S-sir?" Ennis wasn't sure if this was a trick.

"Do as I say, you stupid Homunculus!" Szilard shouted.

"Y-yes, sir," said Ennis, who poured herself a bowl of the stew. She was eating even before she reached the table.

"However," Szilard went on, "It lacks a certain something."

Ennis looked down shamefully at her dinner.

"Ennis, you do not appear to have used any puppies in my stew."

"I… I couldn't find any puppies, sir," said Ennis.

"You couldn't find any puppies?" said Szilard. "However, puppies are everywhere in these streets. I saw several on my walk today."

Ennis stared blankly at him. It was all she could do.

"And so, therefore, I may conclude that you simply weren't looking hard enough." Szilard glared at Ennis. "Ennis, fetch me the pot with the remaining goulash."

"Yes, sir," said Ennis meekly. She returned with the heavy pot, and laid it on the table. She watched nervously as Szilard took some soup in the ladle. "Do you like the goulash you have made?" he asked cryptically.

"I… yes," said Ennis, not knowing what else to say.

"Have some more," said Szilard, almost invitingly. And with that, he ladled more stew into her bowl. "Now, eat."

Ennis immediately did as she was told. The goulash was a rich stew, and after just one helping she felt full. But Szilard kept pouring more and more soup and noodles into her bowl, and demanding she keep eating. Before she knew it, she had eaten bowl after bowl after bowl, and her stomach felt very uncomfortable. She continued to eat until she could no longer stand to feed herself, at which point Szilard began forcing the ladle into her mouth to shove more down her throat. Several times she nearly choked on the chunks of meat and vegetables, and the Hungarian paprika shot her taste buds one by one. This went on until all the stew was gone.

After that was over, Szilard stood up to leave from the table. "Ennis," he said, "Wash my dishes. I'm going to work in the laboratory."

Ennis could barely move. She slowly stood up, and took hold of the pot, transporting it as carefully as she could. She oozed into the kitchen with the pot, and then the bowls, and then the silverware. Slowly, inch by painful inch, she went to fetch water, and then carried it back to the dishes in almost unendurable agony, straining with every step she took.

Sometime after the dishes had been cleaned and put away, Szilard called to her again. "Ennis! Clean my glassware! I'm going to bed!"

And Ennis heaved another sigh, as she plodded into the other room to clean up the laboratory. She washed all the glass, the crucibles, the metal tools, the knives, and she mixed the acids and bases together to neutralize them. After what seemed like forever, the laboratory was clean.

Fortunately, Ennis's bedroom was located in the corner of the laboratory, and so it was easy for her to crawl over to the pile of rags and crash. What a terrible day!


End file.
